


Little Victories

by CaptainDeryn



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: College, Comedy, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, bitty just needs some bf snuggles, that college struggle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23274154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainDeryn/pseuds/CaptainDeryn
Summary: Thesis are hard. They're even harder when Bitty is wanting nothing more than to stress bake. Cut off from his oven, he's left with only a blinking cursor and blank document facing him down.A short oneshot, focused on Bitty's struggle with his thesis and how Jack makes it a little bit more tolerable.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 8
Kudos: 83





	Little Victories

A blank document was a college student's worst nightmare. 

No, it was the worst nightmare of any student; for any assignment. A deadline looming, the timer counting down, and a cursor bouncing up and down on a blank, white, document. 

Well, it wasn’t wholly blank, Bitty had the cover page for his final thesis written out. It was more progress than he had made in the past few months all combined, not counting the period where he had sat down and written out almost the entirety of his outline while waiting for the kitchen timer to go off. 

Changing Methods in Southern Baking After World War II

Eric Bittle

A Thesis in the Field of American Studies

For the Degree of Bachelors of Liberal Arts in Food Culture

Samwell University

May 2017

According to Jack he had already written 2,400 words in a text-to-text tirade spurred on by his boyfriend, but it was one thing to ramble off, furiously texting from his bed, and quite another to take those words and emojis and translate them into something he could graduate with.

Staring at his laptop, tapping his fingers lightly enough on the keys to avoid typing any letter, his mind was simply blank. In another window, staring at him mockingly, he had the texts he had sent Jack on a word document. 

This shouldn’t be this hard, it was an essay, he had been writing essays his whole academic career. But how many essays had he procrastinated over the years, writing them until two in the morning before its due? 

It  _ was  _ hard. Harder than the knob of the cabinet pressing between his shoulder blades. He had been sitting here long enough that his bottom was starting to go numb and there was a dull ache starting along his back where he leaned against the cabinet. His laptop was hot against his thighs, the fan humming. 

The outline stared accusingly at him on one half of his screen, seeming to scream at him that he’d already done  _ that _ . What was so hard about turning around and stringing those words together into full paragraphs and full paragraphs into pages? 

Not for the first time, Bitty was tempted to default to his old habits: make a delicious pie and turn that in as his thesis. Maybe add some delicious pastries to add to his final appeal. 

Butter them up, as one might say. 

But of course that wasn’t going to happen. Bitty looked to his left, a small crease forming between his brows. His darling oven sat cold and unused, chained around like a medieval prisoner. Though he couldn’t see it from this angle, he knew the wires were cut, which was the greatest offense. 

Samwell’s hockey team had been adamant in their efforts to ‘help’ Bitty get this thesis done with the deadline bearing down. At the very least he could appreciate the intent behind their actions. Or try to. 

He could hear them shuffling outside the kitten doorway that he had barricaded off. He’d dragged anything from spare coolers to stacked kitchen chairs--walling himself inside the kitchen, and anyone else out. The kitchen had always been his safe space, and he’d hoped that maybe some inspiration would strike him sitting in here rather than trapped in his room. 

It was a theory that hadn’t held any merit in the long run, but it kept him in here and kept others out. But he wasn’t a wholly cruel captain; he’d left snacks in a box outside the doorway. He’d heard the rustling of the bags in the rare moments he’d taken his headphones out. 

Several sticky notes were slapped haphazardly on the wall--hands had fumbled behind the sheet he’d pinned up across the open doorway in a makeshift wall--and post it notes littered the floor from where they’d been pushed under his barricade. 

He took a short break to read them; they ranged from ‘You dead?’ to motivational messages like ‘Kick this essay’s ass :D’. 

His teammates and friends tried, and that at the very least warmed his heart. 

On the counter, his phone buzzed. Bitty reached up, twisting his arm in an awkward flail to all but knock his phone into his lap. When he checked his notifications he nearly threw his phone across the room in earnest. His laptop slid from his lap as he hastily stood. 

Jack’s name was a banner across his notifications, he was outside and asking if Bitty was around. 

Of  _ course  _ he was around. Just this morning after texting a bright good morning, Bitty had mentioned his bid for self-isolation. Not that that stopped Bitty from breaking through his barrier in a heartbeat, nearly tripping over the very box of chips and Cheez-its he had left out. 

It was short work getting to the front door and tossing it open. The stairs were even shorter work, taken two at a time, and then he was throwing himself into Jack’s arms. 

“What are you doing here sweetheart?” Bitty asked, words muffled in the maroon of Jack’s Samwell hockey sweatshirt. “What’s the occasion?” 

He felt more than heard Jack laugh. “The team told me you locked yourself in the kitchen. I was a little worried.” 

Bitty pulled back, feeling an indigent heat starting in his cheeks even as he couldn’t keep himself from laughing. “I was going to come out  _ eventually _ .” 

The smile Jack offered him was warm and Bitty eased back against Jack’s chest, tilting his chin up so he could still look at him. 

“I’m glad you’re here though,” he added. 

“They were adamant you were becoming the Haus cryptid.” Jack said lightly, before ducking to kiss Bitty’s forehead quickly. “Besides, I just wanted to see you too.” 

_ The Haus Cryptid _ . Bitty mentally shook his head; the team was getting increasingly creative the longer the year wore on. Stepping back for real this time, Bitty took Jack’s hand. Interlacing their fingers, he pulled him towards the Haus. “Well sweetheart, if you’re going to be here you might as well come in.” 

For summoning Jack, the team was suspiciously scarce. Momentarily, Bitty wondered if the tema had had some ulterior motive in messaging Jack, and if their lamenting about the Haus Cryptid had really been what they said. 

Then again, Jack wasn’t known to come up with larger-than-life stories like that. 

The suspicion was fleeting; Jack was already slipping ahead of him towards the kitchen. 

Pushing aside his makeshift curtain, Jack clambered over the barricade. Bitty slipped through the Bitty-sized holed he’d made in his haste to make it to the front door. He turned to fix it, wasting perhaps a little more time than he should sliding a chair and case of sodas back into place. When he finally faced the kitchen again, Jack eased down against the cabinets, patting the linoleum floor between his legs, “C’mere.” 

Really not one to argue, Bitty sat down, leaning against Jack’s chest. His boyfriend was warm, solid. Grounding. 

Settling his arms around Bitty’s waist, Jack gestured towards the laptop. His chin came down to rest on Bitty’s shoulder. Bitty could feel his voice vibrating in his chest. “Let’s get this essay done.” 

“I’ve been trying to work on it for hours--no, days.” Bitty protested. There was only a hint of a plaintive, tired whine in his voice. This thesis after all felt like his own personal purgatory--no, rather like his own Sisyphus story. Stuck on an endless loop. 

If Jack laughed, it came out as more than a mostly-amused snort. His nose brushed Bitty’s neck as he turned his head, pressing a soft kiss to the junction between his neck and shoulder. It was a soft enough gesture that Bitty almost melted right then and there. 

“But I drove all the way from Providence to see you.” Jack teased, extra pleading dripping from his words. “I can’t do that with this thesis looming over us. Your laptop will get more of your time than me.” 

Really it was only an hour’s drive, on a day without traffic, but that hour was hard to spare in their busy lives. Bitty grumbled under his breath, flipping open his laptop. The offensive array of documents popped back up, unchanged from when he had thrown his laptop aside. 

Jack’s arms tightened around him as he shifted to peer around Bitty’s shoulder, looking at what he’d got done. Or, for that matter, what he hadn’t got done. The way he spoke was much the same as when he’d helped Bitty with his fear of getting checked. Relentless, stern. But encouraging, beneath it all. 

“Come on, you need to get this done.” he said. “One paragraph at a time. You’ve got this, Bits.” 

And maybe it was his sentimentality talking. But writing with Jack, the words seemed to come a little easier. Just as it had been one little victory on the ice at a time, it was one sentence at a time. 

After all, it was the little things, like Jack’s chest rising and falling against his back, the weight of his arms, and the little victories that counted. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> I am not particularly active in the Check, Please! fandom, but I've had this oneshot sitting since December and I figured I might as well share a little bit of fluff and happiness into the world right now. 
> 
> While I don't often write my own works for Check, Please, I do offer prompt fills and commissions over on my tumblr! Find me at @/captainderyn if you want to request more of these two :'D


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